His Best Girl
by TheLastRider
Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERS / Steve goes home to his best girl and the life he thought he had lost. Snippets of how Steve made the decision to go back and the moment he reunited with Peggy in 1945.
1. Bucky's Approval

Steve decided at the funeral.

Here was his family, his best friends, with two missing. Each going their separate ways, trying to recreate their lives once more. All of them had people who came back, sure; Steve was grateful for Bucky's calm presence at his side, for Sam to his left, for Fury and Dr. Strange and Queens and T'Challa and the billions who had been saved from the snap. The world was a new place all over again, and there was so much to do.

But Bucky had told him the day before that his would be the next funeral.

Shuri had figured it out when he was in Wakanda, frozen like Steve had been; he would die without Hydra's arm. Their serum for him had been a short term drug, administered through his arm a little at a time; he wouldn't have made it through the five years if he had survived the snap. Shuri had guessed he had a year, maybe a little longer, but Bucky was tired and ready to go.

Steve looked out over the lake and felt the weight of the loss press him a little deeper into the earth.

Nat, Tony, and now Bucky.

The others had their families back; Steve realized he was losing his all over again. Staring over the lake with the Stark cabin behind them, they could hear the sounds of the future one of them wouldn't have and the other would face without his closest friends.

Two Brooklyn boys who only knew war.

What would they do without it?

Bucky didn't have to answer that question; he had already decided to go back to Wakanda, where Shuri had promised him comfort and a peaceful exit. T'Challa and Okoye had already covered the details; they had made arrangements if Steve wanted to join him in Wakanda too.

Both men knew Steve didn't belong in Wakanda.

During the funeral, Steve's eyes fell on Pepper and Morgan once more.

He couldn't stop watching them, how Pepper held herself so proudly and graciously, how Morgan watched everyone with Tony's brown eyes. So much joy mingled with sorrow; Steve had been to too many funerals in the eleven years he had been awake, and too many in the lifetime before that.

Bruce would be going back to his labs, back to his work; Thor and Carol were leaving Earth again; Dr. Strange to his sanctum. Peter needed to finish school, while Scott had Hope and Cassie...

Steve said hello to Clint and Laura but didn't drag out the conversation. Very little needed to be said.

Rhodey, Sam, Wanda, Peter… they had Fury. His recruits didn't need a captain anymore; they had each been promoted, in his mind. They passed bootcamp years ago; it was time to let the grizzled generals go so that the young recruits could keep growing.

He started saying goodbyes that day.

Morgan's brown eyes followed him, and every time he caught her staring he smiled back. Weak smiles, but that was what he had to offer.

Maybe he could have a brown haired, brown eyed daughter someday.

* * *

The hardest part was deciding when to see her.

It was easy to get the mission of returning the stones; he was the only with a shield and mjolnir, after all. Bruce was far too noticeable, Clint and Scott had their families, Bucky said he didn't want to do it, Strange had already left for the Sanctum, Carol was off to the stars, Thor was in no state of mind to handle a delicate task… Steve was the easy option.

He could meet her at the Stork Club; he knew that. He knew she had gone that night, knowing full well he wouldn't be there. He had promised her a dance, after all; but if he went there, would he be recognized? What was the likelihood of him being enlisted again to finish out the war effort on the Pacific side?

He could wait until after the war, when her life would have settled down and Captain America would not have been put on the front lines again. How could he keep himself quiet? Especially if she was busy founding SHIELD? What would he do?

How long could he let her grieve his death?

He had a few days left with the internet and SHIELD's database, so he took full advantage of it, chronicling her years and piecing together where she was, when. Mr. Jarvis and Howard Stark's files were particularly useful as cross references; Steve mapped out her constant trans-Atlantic flights, darting from London to New York and back again, finding when she met with the Howlers and what her different missions had been.

Bucky knew what Steve would do without asking; he simply joined his friend at his workstation and started flipping through the data bank. His assassin's eye caught details that Steve had skimmed over- a birthday party she went to, an address of a shop she frequented.

The others had no idea. Steve recorded messages for each of them; he left one for Morgan too.

Bucky helped with the logistics; how he would have money when he was back in the 40's, what he could do for work, getting a change of clothes as soon as possible. He had plenty of Pimm Particles; they mapped out a few different stops for him, to pick up a few things. They found aged hundred dollar bills and layered them within his time suit, so he would have a few grand- thousands upon thousands, for a guy in the '40s- to get settled.

He decided to buy the ring with her; if any of the others saw him with one, even by accident, it would raise too many questions.

Bucky had the idea of him placing bets on certain events to earn some fast cash over the years; they belly laughed at the idea of Steve and Peggy becoming millionaires from Steve betting on the moon landing.

And somehow, within a few days, Steve stopped talking to Bucky about "I". His whispered comments turned into "we", and he jokingly promised that "they" would name one of "their" sons Buchanan.


	2. Lingering

When Steve returned the Tesseract to the 1970's, he lingered to watch her. His hands shook when he first saw her again, older, but with the same determined stride that could match his length for length. He had wandered through the compound until he found her marching across the base, and as easily as breathing he started following her.

He was not the same man who had gone into the ice.

The wrinkles around his eyes told that much; he kept his cap low over his face and was unashamed to keep his sunglasses on, if it meant he could watch her a little easier. He knew too much; he had seen and experienced too much of the future.

He had been to space, and here he was, going back to a year when calculators didn't exist yet.

Would she still love the older Steve Rogers that was coming to her?

Was this the right thing for her?

He followed her as long as he could, which took him outside of her office with the door closed. He knew it was time for him to go, but he passed her window to get one last glance at her.

She was holding his photo, thinking she was totally alone, unaware that he stopped in his tracks and knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that he was going home to his best girl.

* * *

It was Bucky's idea; send her a cryptic letter, saying the unnamed agent had intel regarding the Valkyrie and suggesting a meet up on Brooklyn Bridge that evening at 5. She couldn't turn it down. They picked a day in October 1945, just after the war, when they found a week of Peggy's life that was absolutely blank. It was like she took a few days off while she was in New York, and Bucky wiggled his eyebrows at Steve and made him blush bright red and chuckle. Steve arrived New York that morning, which gave him enough time to get a proper suit and take a few hours to adjust. He delivered the letter to her office in the New York SHIELD headquarters himself, disguised as a janitor. He left it on the very top of her desk and narrowly avoided a young Howard Stark.

He spent the next few hours sweating.

It started out with just his palms, which he expected, but the longer he was in New York- _his_ New York- the more it felt like a dream. He looked at the skyline and could envision the Avengers tower in the future; he saw Times Square and loved it so much more without the glaring lights.

He put on a dress uniform and spent a few hours wandering around the city, opening an account at the bank, hiding in plain sight. No one expected Captain America, so no one saw him. A large briefcase he had picked up in the 70's held his shield and Mjolnir; he had the address of her New York apartment and wandered through the neighborhood, pleased that it was in Brooklyn and that she was plenty safe there.

If there hadn't been a brisk breeze, he would have sweated through his shirt.


	3. Chapter 3: Brooklyn Bridge

He got to the bridge with a ring in his pocket.

By all official records, he had been dead a few months. He had been rehearsing lines in his head all day, interrupted by moments of 1940's awe, but now that he was on the bridge, minutes away from seeing her, all of the carefully planned words in his brain had slipped away like the water beneath his feet.

He had been on missions that were life and death, but none had ever made his heart pound like this.

He was going to see her, talk to her-

The last time she had seen him, she had kissed him.

He would have a lot to explain.

They had plenty of time.

He took another deep breath, trying to steady himself, and studied the skyline again. The rush hour bustle was comforting, exhilarating, reminding him that he was home and that New York was safe. Red, white, and blue banners were draped from nearly every signpost and in every window, and posters everywhere celebrated the victory and the return of the boys in blue, and the crowds did not have the exhausted drag he remembered from his publicity trips to New York- what felt like years and years ago.

No Thanos, no Ronan, no Nazis.

No phones, no internet, no space or time travel.

_Home._

The boisterous stream of New Yorkers laughing, shouting, running, holding hands, hurrying, told him that life was resuming its course. Families were being reunited, brothers and sons and fathers and husbands were coming home, freed from the burden of war-

His best girl appeared in the crowd a few minutes early, looking braced for war. She was a queen, resolute, ready to take on anything that fate would swing at her. The thrill of victory that hung in the air didn't touch her.

Drinking in the sight of her, he studied her soft curls, the red of her lipstick, the sharp line of her jaw. He knew how time would soften it; he knew where the wrinkles would grow across her forehead and chin. But in the same look he could imagine her glowing and pregnant, smiling, rather than looking like she was going into battle.

She casually leaned across the opposite railing of the bridge, unaware of his watch, scanning the crowd for the nameless agent to contact her. After a moment, she turned to gaze at the East River, her back to him.

His feet moved of their own accord. He came up a few feet to her left, and the way her shoulders tightened told him that she knew someone was standing behind her, but his mouth had suddenly gone dry.

He wiped his hands on his pants and took a shaking breath, the ring in his pocket weighing more than the universe.

"I'm sorry I'm late." He said, his voice stronger than he expected. "I couldn't call my ride."

A moment that lasted longer than all his years in the ice dragged between them.

She went rigid, and Steve saw her left hand on the railing turn white from the force of her grip.

He had waited years for her.

She was still grieving his death, just a few months before.

A rush of courage ran through his system like lightning, and the memory of Mjolnir in his hand reminded him that she was his future.

He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them, and gently put his hand on her trembling one.

She didn't turn, her eyes fixed on an undetermined spot on the horizon. Steve marveled at the smoothness of her skin beneath his rough fingertips, breathless at her beauty in the golden hour.

"I couldn't leave my best girl." He murmured to her, bursting with gratefulness that he was speaking to a woman with all the strength of her youth and many years ahead of her. "Not when I still owe her a dance."

She turned to him slowly, as if she was afraid she would end a dream if she moved too quickly. A tear ran down her cheek, and Steve's sight of her blurred with tears of his own.

He reached towards her, so gently, to cup her chin in one hand and brush a tear away with his thumb.

He couldn't speak.

His movement had given her permission in some way he didn't understand, because she reached forward so they were echoing each other. Her feather-light touch brushed through his hair, blonder and longer than she had last seen it; he trembled as she traced the wrinkles around his eyes, more than he had when he had gone into the ice just a few months before.

Keeping one hand on his face, she put the other on his shoulder, as if she didn't believe he was real and needed more proof, taking a step forward so that they were mere inches apart.

Something more than tears was growing in her eyes, and the hardened expression of war melted off of her face, replaced by relief, by hope, by something stronger than the wall her expression had originally had.

"I'm sorry I didn't come back to you sooner." His voice had dropped to a whisper, the words fighting past the lump in his throat. "I came as soon as I could."

He could see the questions growing, the cogs in her mind whizzing as she stared up at him, the evening sunlight dancing golden specks across her brown eyes.

She held his face in both of her strong, delicate hands, a smile breaking across her face and soothing the drumbeat in his heart.

"And how long have you been trying to get back to me?" She smiled, half laughing and half crying.

"Too long." It was her turn to brush away his happy tears, but she was bold, suddenly wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself flush against him, kissing his tears away until he moved his face to meet her lips with his.

Eleven years of waiting.

Eleven years of dreaming of her, of going on dates that never compared, of seeing friends get married and have their own families and thinking he wouldn't have one.

He had buried her, and now she was his again.

He held her as tightly as he dared, both of them laughing as they caught a breath between kisses. He didn't care that he would have lipstick on his face, or even that he didn't know where he was staying the night, or when they were getting married, or what he would do back in 1945.

Someone on the bridge whistled, but they didn't hear.

In Cap's mind, they had years of kisses to make up for.


End file.
